Ahfdensen's Exorcism!
by Oshii
Summary: Ofdensen gets possessed and Pickles performs an exorcism. Dethklok in drag. Toki in a Stephen Hawking computer. Skwisgaar grows boobs for some reason. This whole thing was really a misadventure into madness resulting from a midnight sugar high.


Okay, so. I was originally intending for this to be a parody of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but sadly, I could not summon my creative muses for this particular task. So instead I just kinda went with what I had (i.e. a hilarious series of drawings of the boys all decked out in corsets and the like) and eventually ended up with an OMG WHAT IF OFDENSEN WAS POSSESSED AND HAD EVIL POWERS AND PICKLES PREFORMED AN EXORCISM??!!

This is how the tale unfolds. XD

Disclaimer: Dethklok, Metalocalypse and all of their affiliates belong to Brendan Small and Tommy Blacha.

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"Why's we gots to wear dis corsets, Nate'ns?"

"MY NAME IS NOT NATE'NS!!!"

"Gad, you've all gahn nuts. Douchebags…"

"I zthink, I look fuck-assh hot."

"Pfffft."

All five members of Dethklok stood, poised and visibly chafing un-fuckin-comfortable, squeezed into skintight purple leather corsets with matching fishnets and pumps. Except for Toki, who also had the privilege of being bodily forced into donning a zippered leather bondage mask and a braided leather whip. Just for shits and giggles.

"All right guys, Ofdensen's gonna be here any minute. Let's take it from the top." Nathan uttered, sweeping a stray strand of blacker-than-the-blackest-black-times-infinity hair over his shoulder and clearing his throat.

"Dis idea is dildoes," Skwisgaar whispered to Murderface, who was too absorbed in trying to squeeze his fat rolls in between the dangerously tight corset strings to reply.

"Okay, Nate'n, d'ya mind explainin' again exactly why th' hell we're doin' this?" Pickles demanded, wobbling slightly and taking a deep pull from the 40-oz he clutched in his hand.

"Because it looked fuckin awesome on that movie, that's why." Was Nathan's response. "Now get into position. We're gonna get this goddamn dance right, so help me sweet fucking LORD."

With disgruntled but resigned sighs of dismay, the four other band members followed Nathan's lead, arranging themselves into a single file line that was inexplicably close to resembling a can-can lineup.

Unfortunately, Skwisgaar was the only one who had any sense of balance or poise in high heels (no one was quite sure why but they let the subject remain thankfully untouched for now) so the other appendages of Dethklok were left stumbling and flailing about trying to get into said single file line.

"OH SCHIT LOOK OUT!" Murderface screamed, tripping over a stray tequila bottle and crashing into Toki, effectively using his staggering weight to crush the poor little Norwegian. Pickles guffawed loudly for a moment before raising the 40 oz. in his hand to his mouth. The momentum of his arm's movement sent his sickeningly inebriated self toppling to the floor, head slamming into the spiked coffee table on the way down and the impact making any control he had over his bladder reduced to nil. Blood pooled in a steadily growing puddle from his scalp, soaking into his dreads and mingling with the piss on the floor. And Nathan just stood there silently for a few seconds when the heels on his pumps suddenly snapped, lowering him down a few inches. But he didn't fall, though.

Predictably, Skwisgaar started to become irritated with everyone's lack of grace. Sure, he hadn't really been for this whole let's-force-ourselves-into-tight-ass-corsets-and-remake-the-dance-scene-from-Rocky-Horror-Picture-Show idea, but goddammit, he was already in the heels and if Nathan wanted everyone to dance, he was going to fucking dance, and these less-than-elegant morons weren't going to stop him, no sir.

"GETS UP EVERYONE!" He bellowed, throwing his arms in the air. "NATHAN WANTSED US ALLS TO DO DIS DUMB DILDO DANCE FROM DE MOVIE AND YOU IDSIOTS CANTS EVEN DO DAT CAUSE YOU ALLS AIN'T GOT NO SENSE OF BALANCE—"

"Um, Skwisgaar?"

"WHAT DE FUCKS YOU WANT—!" Skwisgaar abruptly stopped his tirade to stand and stare dumfoundedly at Ofdensen, who was standing in the doorway and returning the Swede's dumfounded stare with an equally WTF expression of his own.

"Boys, may I ask what the hell is going on here?" Ofdensen arched an executive eyebrow and waited for a reply.

"Cinnamon buns!" Pickles blurted out, then rolled over in the blood-and-piss pile and went back to sleep.

"We're uh, trying to dance." Nathan explained gutturally, his gaze drifting down to the floor, then snapping back up at Ofdensen with a new ferocity. "You gotta problem, dickbrain?"

Ofdensen cleared his throat and shuffled through a stack of papers in his hand. "No, I…do not." He surveyed the carnage with a dubious look before moving on. "May I see you all in the conference room for a moment?"

"If dis be another ones of those in-der-kensh…tents…inner-vents…" Skwisgaar fumbled, blond brow furrowing in agitation.

"Intervenshion," Murderface corrected the Swede, pulling himself to his feet and staring down at the mangled and presumably lifeless body of Toki. He nudged the rhythm guitarist with his foot, then glanced up at Ofdensen. "Zthink I crushed zthe poor little fucker."

"It, ah, would appear that you did, Murderface." Ofdensen looked at Toki. "He…does seem to be pretty sufficiently crushed."

"Pfft. Forgets about dat dildo, whys we gots to has another conf-krence anyways?" Skwisgaar pouted, folding his arms and glaring at the manager.

"Yeah, they're always so damn boring." Nathan conceded, picking a lintball off his corset.

"Just fucking follow me." Ofdensen snapped, turning on his expensive Italian-made heels and stalking out of the room.

"Holy shit." Nathan gaped.

XXX

"I used to be a man-whore before I took this managing job." Ofdensen spoke casually, organizing a pile of papers on the conference table.

"I useds to bees de man-whore before I joins dis band, but you don't sees me bragginks about it," Skwisgaar grumbled, sliding down lower in his chair.

"Whaddya mean uzhed to?" Murderface leered, folding his arms and simmering in the glory of dickishness.

"Fucks off, fat tubs of shits."

"YOU MOZTHER FUCKER—"

"Boys, please." Ofdensen adjusted his glasses. "Stop it. Right now. Before I'm forced to throw down."

"Hey, why'd you have to stop them, you dick? I wanted to see a fight." Nathan growled.

"Because, it's upsetting Toki." Ofdensen gestured to the crippled and drooling Norwegian, who was propped up in an electric wheelchair with a computer controlled by eye-blinking, much like the one Murderface so lovingly purchased for his dear grandfather in episode 6.

"SO, YOUS UPSETTINGKS ME!" Skwisgaar yelled, slamming his hands on the table and rising to his feet. "FUCKS DIS, I BE LEAVINGS NOW."

But before Skwisgaar had chance to make for the door, Ofdensen snatched up Toki's discarded whip and promptly caught the Swede in the back of the head. "Sit the fuck down."

Nathan and Murderface watched in incredulous awe as Skwisgaar glared shortly at Ofdensen before placing a hand over the back of his head and turning fully around to face him. "No."

Ofdensen narrowed his eyes. "Try me."

"I is not scareds of you," Skwisgaar retaliated, spreading his arms wide and sticking his chest out like a true nigga. A true Scandinavian nigga. "Fucking brings it on, Dorsal Fin."

Ofdensen said nothing. He simply stared at Skwisgaar, long and hard.

Suddenly Skwisgaar's eyes bulged. He gasped and fell to his knees, hands flying to his throat. Blood sprayed from every orifice on his face. He rolled around on the floor, seizing violently, probably pissing his pants like Pickles. His eyeballs exploded, droplets of blood and vitreous fluid flying everywhere. Coiled Swedish entrails snaked from his mouth and wrapped around his throat, tangling his blond hair and bloodying the carpet. And just when everyone thought it was over, Skwisgaar's dick shriveled up and burst into flames.

Ofdensen blinked and cleared his throat. "Now then, I have a few more important things to discuss with you all."

Then Pickles came stumbling through the door, dried blood caked in his dreads and face and piss stains on his tighty-whities but otherwise pretty okay. "'Ey, dudes." He looked at Skwisgaar. "Whad'I miss?"

XXX

"!!!!!!"

"Hm. It appears Skwisgaar's awakened and discovered the, er, side effects." The barest of smiles crossed Ofdensen's face after hearing the Swede's distressed scream.

"What side effects?" Nathan grunted, glancing up over the top of his bowl of Frosted Fatties.

"Well, after the resurrection stage, Skwisgaar will have woken up…significantly more endowed." Ofdensen smirked evilly, twiddling his fingers together like Mr. Burns. Thankfully, though, he refrained from saying 'eeeexcellent'.

"Whuuut?" Murderface lifted his head from his hairy arms to stare blearily at Ofdensen.

"Wait, Skwisgaar's alive?" Nathan arched a blacker-than-the-blackest-black-times-infinity eyebrow, a speculative expression on his otherwise dull face.

"Yes, yes he is, Nathan." Ofdensen replied.

"Huh." Nathan shrugged and continued eating his cereal.

"WHATS IN DE FUCKING NAMES OF ODIN?!!"

Everyone averted their attention to the door, where a significantly more endowed SkwiHOLYSHITWHAAAAAT???!!

"TIIITS!!" Nathan bellowed, springing up from his chair so fast it a.) knocked said piece of furniture over with a loud bang and b.) created a slight breeze. A large, manly, and black-polish-lacquered finger stabbed in the direction of the Swede standing in the doorway, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, breasts heaving with each breath taken.

"Nishe titsh," Murderface gargled groggily, head collapsing onto the table again. He was clearly not rational enough to realize that this wasn't a dream. But don't worry. He'll come around soon enough.

"'Ey, you'll really fill out th' corset now, Skwissy." Pickles smirked, taking a huge swig from his vodka bottle.

"AH HA HA YOUS A BEAUTIFULS GOYLE NOW SKWISGAAR" Toki's Stephen Hawking computer droned. "MAYBE YOUS SHOULD GO TO DE FOODS LIBRARY AND BUYS SOME LADIES TAMPOONS FOR YOURSELVES BECAUSE YOUS—"

"SHUTS UP YOUS DUMB DILDO RETARD CORPSE!!" Skwisgaar screamed, flailing his arms indignantly. His new super tits jiggled almost inhumanly whilst he did so, immediately and inevitably capturing the undivided attention of Nathan and Pickles. If Toki was turned on you'd never know it by looking at him, and Ofdensen was just an asexual robot. Everyone knew that.

"Good morning, Skwisgaar," Ofdensen greeted calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place between himself and the Swede during the last 17 hours. "The boys left you some cream cheese in the fridge if you were interested."

"Pfft. I DON'T WANTS NO FUCKING CREAM CHEESES," Skwisgaar shouted angrily. "I WANTS TO KNOW WHYS DIS EVIL SERPENT BUTLER GIVES ME PAIR OF LADIES TITS!!!"

Pickles yawned, downed the last of the vodka, and threw the bottle somewhere yet undefined where it crashed with the unmistakable sound of breaking glass on the general periph. "Think I ken explain this."

He stood, nonchalantly scratched his balls, and sauntered up to the head of the table where Ofdensen sat.

"Pickles, what are you—"

Pickles slammed his palm on Ofdensen's head, pinning him to the chair.

"Pickles what the HELL—"

"BY TH' POWER OF ALL THAT IS EVIIILLL~~I COMMAND YOU T' COME OUUUTT AND LEAVE AHFDENSEN'S BAHDY FOORRREVERR~!!!!!" Pickles bellowed, throwing his head back and speaking in tongues like a sex-deprived deep Southern Pentecostal preacher. And the Irish-American-Wisconsinish twist added a whole new flair to the ordeal.

All the lights in the room dimmed and flickered in dramatic surges. Bottles of booze exploded, sending glass shards and alcohol flying everywhere. Anyone whose hair was long enough to fly behind their skull in waves, well, yeah. Screaming and chaos ensued. Ofdensen's eyes rolled back in his head, he began frothing at the mouth and wildly flailing his arms. Some deep and horrible Satanic sounding spiel emitted from deep within the austere and reserved manager, ancient curses echoing and reverberating throughout the dining room. Pea soup gushed from his lips and ran down his expensive Italian suit, splattering onto Pickles who, by this point in his life, was so used to being covered in vomit he didn't even notice it.

"TH' POWER A TH' ANTICHRIST COMPELLS YOU~~TH' POWER A TH' ANTICHRIST COMPELLS YOUU!!!!" Pickles pressed on, relentless and determined to drive the unwanted entity out of Ofdensen.

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!"

A blinding flash ensued. Pickles jerked his hand away and stepped back as the dark and terrible spirit of Mr. Selatcia rose up from Ofdensen's limp body, towering above the dining table and uttering something severe in Latin before dissipating into nothingness or who-the-fuck-cares.

Pickles fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket, lighting up a weed and taking a drag. He glanced around the dining room as if he hadn't just performed an exorcism of epic goddamn proportions.

"'Ey, lookit that. Skwissy's tits're gone." He sounded somewhat disappointed that his bandmate's awesomely huge and supple man melons had disappeared.

Skwisgaar blinked, reaching up to feel his chest and breathing a sigh of relief when he found it to be beautifully flat and masculine. "Dat had me worrieds dere for a minute," He mumbled.

Pickles returned to his seat and continued to smoke, watching as Ofdensen started to stir.

"Hey, uh, he's wakin up." Nathan pointed out. "Should we like, restr…resr…tie him down or somethin?"

"Nah, he's fine." Pickles exhaled a cloud of carcinogens and rummaged through the piles of broken glass on the table for anything salvageable. "Gad…damn dark magic…always fuckin makes such a huge fuckin mess." He sighed exasperatedly and pushed himself away from the table, nudging past Skwisgaar as he left the dining room.

FIN


End file.
